


Don't Speak French

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Naive Castiel, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't anything Castiel doesn't know about humans.</p><p>Except that there are some things friends don't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Speak French

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this years ago anon for Blindfold, after Dean's insistence to Castiel that 'we don't talk about it'.

Dean takes about another two minutes of it, then walks out disgusted. Sam knows why. Dean told him what it was like, seeing what Castiel turned into when Zachariah sent him to 2014. Even though that’s a timeline they’ve avoided creating, every time Castiel does something that reminds Dean of that future, it’s like salt in a wound that hasn’t been created yet.

But neither of them has told Castiel, and that means Dean doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. There’s no handy copy of ‘How To Train Your Angel’ lying around.

Sam sits quietly, ignoring the sounds of the movie Castiel’s watching, in favour of doing some research on the web. He’s still watching the angel though; he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, head cocked to one side whenever he sees something he can’t interpret. The angel’s wearing an expression caught between confusion and a scowl. It’s as if he knows he should somehow be offended by watching this, but isn’t sure why.

“Castiel,” Sam says, finally. 

The angel doesn’t look at him. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

Sam gets up. He wants to say that he’s tired. He wants to find some twinkle of amusement in Castiel repeating Dean’s direction like a mantra, because sometimes that’s what Castiel does, and it reminds him of the way things were between them. He wants to open a couple of beers, sit down next to the angel, take the remote away and change the channel.

But he doesn’t because he’s not that Sam anymore, and he won’t be until Castiel figures out how to get his soul back. And instead of that, Castiel is sitting on the sofa watching some guy spank some girl in the most cheesy example of foreplay he’s ever seen (and what with sharing motel rooms with Dean on credit card bills that won’t ever be paid, he’s been subjected to quite a few of these pay per views). 

Sam sits down next to him. He puts his hand on Castiel’s knee, but Castiel still doesn’t have the personal space issues that people have. And anyway, he’s used to them. He doesn’t perceive them as a threat. They’re his friends, so what if Sam is touching him. Sam’s caught Castiel when he passed out and helped carry him to a bed. Sam’s sat with him when he had a hangover sufficient to kill a room full of humans. Sam’s explained things when Dean wouldn’t, because whatever his big brother might say about Sam being the little bitch in this family it’s Dean that has claim to that title most days.

“He isn’t spanking her because she’s been bad,” Sam says. “It’s foreplay. It’s turning her on, and him, and before too long they’ll have sex.”

Castiel knows what sex is. He knows a lot of how humans function, just not a lot about how they work. He glances at Sam, distracted, and Sam slides his hand from Castiel’s knee to the inside of his thigh. 

“He’s hurting her.”

“No. It can, but not this time. It’s about power as well. He’s dominating her. Some people like that.”

His fingers are edging closer, catching on the fabric of Castiel’s slacks, and then they brush lightly against Castiel’s groin. He’s half hard, the vessel responding to stimulus that Castiel just doesn’t get. 

The angel glances down at Sam’s hand, and then back up at him. “What are you doing, Sam?”

“You want to know. You want to understand, but Dean won’t do this for you. There’s nothing wrong with it, Castiel.”

He slips his other arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and guides him to lie back against the sofa. He kind of grips him, holds him there. Castiel could just sit back up, but he’s not sure now and Sam knows what that feels like. From before. But right now, he’s neither sure nor not sure – nothing is checks and balances any more. He can know what he should be feeling, and right now he should be feeling hope that doing this will spark something in him. It should make him feel wrong. Revulsion. Anger. It should be making him get up, back off, and utter an apology.

Instead, he nuzzles Castiel’s neck, and whispers. “If we were in that movie, right now I’d have you on the bed. On your back, while I stripped you.” He licks at Castiel’s throat, grazes the skin with his teeth. And while he’s doing that, he cups Castiel through his pants, pressing the heel of his hand into that sensitive area, rubbing in increasingly firm circles.

“Sam,” Cas says, and it sounds like ‘stop’ and ‘I don’t understand’ and he doesn’t care or not care. He kisses Castiel on the lips, tilting the angel’s head towards him to do it. Castiel’s eyes are open, wary. He knows enough to feel that maybe this isn’t something he should be letting Sam do, but he doesn’t know enough to get why.

Of course, if Dean comes back and catches them like this, Sam knows what will happen. Dean will know exactly what Sam’s doing, and he fully expects his brother to take him outside and kick the utter shit out of him. 

But Sam doesn’t expect Dean back for a while. He traces the outline of Castiel’s cock with his finger, nudging and rubbing, and then undoes the angel’s pants enough to slip his hand inside. Castiel’s skin feels red hot. His dick almost jumps into Sam’s hand, and he chuckles into Castiel’s mouth as he kisses him again. It feels as hollow as it sounds.

“I would just take what I wanted if that was us,” he continues. “Hold you down. Use my weight to keep you right where I wanted. Slip my fingers into you to loosen you up just enough, and then I’ll breech you. Fuck you hard and long and you’d beg. Stop, stop, wait. I’ll fill you right up, and when I was done, you’d be lying there so fucked out you couldn’t even move. My cum would be dripping right out of you, and I’d rub my fingers in it and make you eat it.”

He supposes it should prove an interesting fact about angels and their vessels. Castiel understands what each of those words means. But the context – what Sam is saying with them altogether – it’s like the angel doesn’t get that Sam is saying he’d basically force him. Hold him down and take him, hurt him. Degrade him.

Like he’s doing now.

Castiel bucks up against him, whining as he comes. Sam considers suiting actions to words, by feeding Castiel his own jizz, but the angel is already moving away from him, something akin to suspicion on his face. A moment later his pants are done back up, the tousled sexed up look is gone, and the TV has changed channels. 

Sam sits there, waiting to see what Castiel will say. The angel just stares at him like he knows Sam’s crossed some kind of line but isn’t too clear on what. Or why.

Sam knows there’ll be hell to pay later, if Castiel doesn’t follow Dean’s instruction that they ‘don’t talk about it’. For once, one of Dean’s offhand comments borne out of his ‘I don’t want to deal with this’ sulks will actually work in Sam’s favour. 

He gets up and goes back to the laptop. Castiel sits in silence, and that’s how they stay until Dean returns.


End file.
